The Hanging Rose
by Hades the Facile
Summary: A mass breakout of hangings ensues London and the team of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson become quickly involved. Meanwhile, Watson starts having feeling for a certain colleague of his. RATED M for later chapters. CHAPTER 1-9 HAS BEEN EDITED!
1. Chapter 1: Vanilla Extract

******If you are re-reading this I only made minor changes, adding minor details. If you'd like to read it go ahead but it isn't necessary.**

******-Hades**

******The Hanging Rose-Chapter 1:Vanilla Extract**

The flat off 221b Baker Street was in its usual state of untidiness, pots and pans littered the counter tops of the small kitchen and boxes filled with files were scattered about the floor in the living quarters. Watson was plopped down in a comfy space on the new addition to the flat, a dark blue two person couch. Plain in its appeal but comfy in its touch, Watson felt at ease in his position. Although, his mind being jumbled with thoughts, he could not find the correct words to write his blog. He sighed closing the lid, accepting defeat. The silence that ensued after got to John. ___Wheres Sherlock?_

"Sherlock?" He announced. There was no answer.

"Sherlock are you here?" still no reply. His flat mate had developed a recent habit of locking himself in his room for long periods of time and not contacting the outside world of days on end. Although that wasn't shocking to John. He had grown use to the strange ways of Sherlock Holmes.

He placed his laptop on the floor just below, got his cane and headed down the stairs to locate Mrs. Hudson. _Maybe she would have some idea as to where Sherlock has gone off to. _He thought.

"Mrs. Hudson." he exclaimed, limping down the stairs.

"Oh Mr. Watson, oh Mr. Watson." said a small and frail voice. John turned to see Mrs. Hudson hurrying down the stairs as quickly as her small legs could carry her. Her face contained that of a worried mother; and in some ways she may have thought she was. She cared for Sherlock and John deeply almost like the two sons she never had.

"Oh Mrs. Hudson there you are, have you seen-" he was cut off by her sudden chatter.

"Oh John Sherlock has gone and locked himself in your bedroom and won't come out. He took some needles in there as well and I'm awfully worried about him." she said. _Needles? _He thought. Suddenly John was dashing up the stairs towards his bedroom. John knew that Sherlock had a past problem with drugs but to the best of his knowledge he hadn't abused them in quite some time. He reached his bedroom door and tried to open it.

___Locked, damn _He thought.

"Sherlock...Sherlock can you hear me?" He said.

"Of course I can hear you, I'm not deaf." Came a reply from the other side of the door. John sighed in relief.

"Well that's lovely, can you tell me why you're in my room?" he asked. He had his ear close to the door, trying to hear his flatmates voice better.

"...I'm...experimenting, with some chemicals I recently bought." Sherlock responding, hesitating at the word experimenting.

"And how are you experimenting with these chemicals? Speaking of which, what chemicals did you say they were?" John asked.

"I didn't. And how I experiment with these chemicals is strictly none of your concern, now John if you wish to make yourself useful, go to the market and pick up some Ethanol, Peroxide and several bottles of Vanilla extract." Sherlock said. John became very puzzled and slightly irritated.

"Why do you need Peroxide? And Ethanol, what could you possibly need that for? Sherlock...Sherlock can you hear me?" John exclaimed. The door could be heard being unlocked then it swung open, and there stood a shirtless Sherlock Holmes, with sweat glazed all over his chest and abs. His pale skin shone brightly and his arm muscles bulged. Johns eyes wandered about the tall dark haired mans body like a child looking at a desired toy. Watson found enough self control to stop his eyes from meandering any further. A strong and terrible odor escaped from the room, stinging Johns eyes and nose. It smelled of death and rotting corpses.

"And...and why the vanilla...Vanilla extract hm?" John asked, clearing his throat, his cheeks beginning to flush pink. He didn't usually experience this type of embarrassment with Sherlock, so it made him feel uncomfortable.

"I enjoy the taste...off you go John." He said, and with that Sherlock swiftly closed the door. John stood there for a long moment, his mind once again in a jumble before he walked swiftly down the stairs, cane in hand off to the market.


	2. Chapter 2: A New Case

**Chapter 2: A New Case**

After returning from the market with all of Sherlock requests, John made his way up the stairs carrying up one plastic bag with all the essential items within it, limping as he did. Sherlock sat on the old green couch just below the yellow smiley face he had shot up just a few months prior, staring blankly at the new blue one across from the corner.

"I don't like it." Sherlock stated. John walked into the living quarters with the bag, placing the items on the crowded desk filled with papers and boxes. He inwardly tutted at the littered work space. _Sherlock has the most well-organized mind in the world but he manages to trash his living space with crap _John thought.

"I got your Ethanol and Peroxide." John said.

"I don't like it." he repeated.

"Well then why did you ask me to buy them, I wasted a good twenty minutes walking there and back." John said. Turning to look at him. Sherlock had his hands in his usual steeple stance. Fingertips placed directly under the chin, eyes locked on the two person couch.

"Not the Ethanol or the Peroxide, that bloody blue couch." Sherlock exclaimed standing up quickly. He marched over to the desk rummaging through the bag for his items, pulling out the vanilla extract.

"I like it, matches your robe" John stated.

"Are you saying you like my robe therefore you like the couch, or do you simply like the couch because its the same shade of blue as my robe?" Sherlock asked, his gray-blue eyes staring into Johns. John was hesitant before he answered.

"Neither, I simply just like the couch, the fact that it matches your robe is completely coincidental." John replied. Sherlock stared deeply into Johns eyes. John cheeks began to flush red. There it was again, the sudden embarrassment.

"That's the second time today your cheeks have turned that shade of red Watson, is that coincidental?" Sherlock said. Johns cheeks turned an even deeper red, he lowered his gaze to the floor. _Sherlock had noticed _ he thought. But that wasn't surprising Sherlock saw everything.

"That doesn't make sense. And you mind telling me why you wanted these ingredients?" That was Johns attempt at changing the conversation.

"Why are you trying to change the conversation John, do I make you uncomfortable?" Sherlock said, he moved closer toward John, his hands now behind his back.

"N-No." Watson stuttered. Sherlock stepped closer, now towering over John. Johns face began to harden.

"Good. And the answer to your question shall come at a later moment, we have a case." Holmes said.

"Oh do we, whats it this time? Murder, Scandal?" John asked, going to sit down on the now unapproved blue couch.

"Two women, each found formally dressed with freshly applied makeup." Sherlock started pacing the floor, now in his usual step of happiness, a type of happiness that only comes around when there is a new and interesting case.

"If that's the case then I say we go to dinner. You need to get out." John said, his attempt at humor. Although Sherlock ignored his efforts and continued.

"They were both found hung from their apartment balconies, but here is where it gets fun. They were both dead!" Sherlock exclaimed. He did a small jump of excitement, his blue robe springing this way and that. John sat slightly confused.

"Isn't that usually what happens when people are hanged?" he asked. Sherlock turned on his heels quickly, walking fast toward John. He grabbed John strongly with his long fingers by the shoulders.

"They were both corpses when they were hung, they had been dead for a few hours before they were hung." Sherlock exclaimed excitedly.

"So you're saying we're looking for someone who kidnaps and hangs corpses?" John asked.

"Yes, we are also looking for someone who managed to smuggle two corpses from a morgue in broad daylight." Sherlock said excitedly before continuing, "But the one thing that stumps me is what the motive is. Now, I've done a bit of research, and neither of these women have any relations toward eachother." He said as he walked over to his computer, beginning to type.

"What was the cause of death?" John questioned as he walked over to look at the screen. Johns head was right next to Sherlocks shoulder, and Sherlock smelled of Vanilla. _Was his experiment a type of cologne or something? _John thought. He couldn't recall what Sherlock actually smelled. Now that he thought about it, Sherlock didn't actually have an odor. He was scentless.

_Why am I smelling him? _John questioned. He had managed to catch himself stealing a whiff of the consulting detective. He smelled of vanilla and another scent that was indistinguishable John.

"One overdosed, the other, child birth. No link...besides the fact that they both died on the same day." Sherlock said as he pulled up a picture of the two women. One woman, the one John assumed to have died in childbirth, looked to be in her early thirties. Brunette and pretty, although it seemed that she may have contained a natural beauty had she not been covered in make-up. Then the other, she appeared to be young, didn't even look eighteen , although her face was made up nice her attire showed to have been homeless. She was dirty and thin.

"So there's no link besides the date of death, and the fact that the same person hung them ." John said.

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered.

"Well then Mr. Holmes, who's our Hanger?" John asked, still hovering over Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head and him and John were only millimeters away from each other. Sherlock stared intensely into Johns eyes, and John did the same. Sherlock then looked awkwardly down before standing and walking away.

"Well...um shall we uh..." John muttered.

"Just as soon as I make a phone call." Sherlock said, pulling his phone out.

"Who are you calling?" John asked. He walked over and sat down on the blue couch.

"Lestrade." Sherlock answered as he began to punch in the numbers for Greg Lestrade.


	3. Chapter 3: Denied Work

******Chapter 3: Denied Work**

Sherlock Holmes paced back and forth with an angry expression on his face. He held his small phone up to his ear, an angry Lestrade yelling from the other end of the receiver. Holmes and Watson had not left the flat yet, on account of Holmes not being able to successfully persuade Lestrade to let the two in on the investigation. John, who can admit defeat way sooner than Sherlock ever would, busied himself with his blog. Although, his page still remained blank. He truly had nothing to write about.

"Damn him!" yelled Sherlock. He slammed his phone down on the desk harshly, his eyes brows furrowing with an irritated look. John inwardly rolled his eyes, an 'I-Told-You-So' look beginning to form.

"I told you not to badger him, he told you know once, he won't change his mind if you continue to pester him." John replied. Sherlock had phoned Lestrade about four times in the past hour, begging him to let him take part in the case; but, Lestrade said no every single time. Sherlock began throwing papers on the floor like a child, although in Watson mind, Sherlock was in some ways a child.

"I won't be picking that up." John said, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.

"I'm bored John! I need to be stimulated intellectually. It's not like those idiots are going to figure it out. They never do. The always come to me. Always." He complained, he slumped pathetically into the old green couch, his blue robe hanging awkwardly off to the side.

"Its been a week since your last case Sherlock, stop complaining, and if you're bored go do something productive." Watson suggested. Sherlock rose to his feet and walked to John, stepping over the short coffee table along the way. Johns eyes did briefly look up, to notice how Sherlocks robe flowed over everything in a sort of graceful way. That was one thing John Watson could quietly say, he was amazed by Sherlock, even with the more simple things that his does. Sherlock closed the lid of Johns computer.

"If you call staring at a computer screen for an hour productive then I shall surely lose my mind. Besides, it takes more than simple actions to stimulate my brilliant mind." He said, waving his hands as he spoke. John chuckled.

"Modest today are we?" he said sarcastically. He placed his laptop on the floor again, folding his arms across his chest.

"So you never answered my question," John stated, referring to the conversation from earlier that morning. John found himself thinking about his flat mate with nothing but the sweat on his upper torso.

___Wait, why am I thinking about that?_

"What question?" Sherlock asked. His eyes burning deep into Watsons.

"Why did you have me buy Vanilla extract, Ethanol, and Peroxide?" he asked once more. Sherlock went and gazed out the window.

"I answered your question before you had even asked it, John. I said I was experimenting." He replied. His response seemed guarded. ___Why was he being defensive?_

"And why did this experiment require you to be...without a shirt?" John asked. He was feeling bold, but was also just generally interested.

"Because i'm testing the ability to rid a corpse of its vile smell several days after expiration." Sherlock responded.

"You had a dead body in my bedroom?!" John exclaimed. Rising to his feet.

"You didn't even notice, which proves my experiment successful." Sherlock said, still staring out the window. John thought he saw Sherlock smirk. _He's enjoying this _John thought angrily.

"You had a bloody corpse in my bedroom!" John yelled once more.

"Oh calm down. You weren't bothered by my actions until you knew what it involved." Sherlock said bluntly.

"So explain the needle?" John asked.

"Well, I needed something to inject my serum with. You can't be this dull John" Sherlock responded.

"And why did you not have a shirt on?" John asked. His anger seemed to lift as he thought more about the question and why he was asking it.

"Well, if you must know I..." Sherlock began. John zoned out almost immediately.

___I'm just interested in why he was shirtless, I mean what kind of experiment could he be doing? Not that I am interested in him being shirtless. Not that I'm not interested in Sherlock, cause I'm not. I mean I am just not physically. Not that he isn't physically attractive, he is, I'm just not attracted to him. Yeah that makes sense._

"John!" Sherlock announced.

"What? Oh sorry." He responded.

"If you're going to just check out every time I answer one of your questions then please at least pretend you're listening. Anyways, my experiments will be moved back here I just needed a different place to work." he said, taking his robe off and placing it on the desk. His night clothes which consisted of white and dark blue stripes seemed to hug his body well but there was still some bagginess left in the pants. John grunted in response, to lazy to continue conversation.

"Watson, come here." Sherlock whispered. John stood up and walked toward him, abandoning his warm spot on the couch.

"What is it?" John said, scratching the back of his neck tiredly. It didn't take long before John realized what caught Sherlocks attention.

"It seems the case has come to us instead." Sherlock said, his blue eyes squinted against the faint sunlight. Just across the street was a woman hanging from a lamp post, with a note that read:

**__****Mon amour sera écrite dans leur ai**

**"What does that say Sherlock?" John asked.**

**"My love will be written in their blood." Sherlock whispered**


	4. Chapter 4: A Strange Moment

**A.N.- Well i think this story is just about to start picking up now! Leave reviews so i can get a feel for how people who read this are taking it(I just want to know you guys are liking it!). So hopefully if you have come this far you are thoroughly enjoying the story. I will update this as often as i can(Or feel like), but i won't leave you guys hanging for to long. You have been warned!**

**- Hades**

**Chapter 4: A Strange Moment**

Sherlock and John both stared out of the window onto the scene before them. People began to crowd and point, and hopefully a pedestrian would phone the police.

"Well, shall we?" John said, making his from the window toward the door where his leather coat hang. He pulled his coat on and was preparing to walk out of the door before he realized Sherlock had not left his stance at the window. Sherlock continued his gazing, or at least that 's what John thought.

"Sherlock?" John asked. But his tall friend did not move an inch.

_Oh great, he's in one of his trances._

John sighed, raising an eyebrow to his friend. He walked back over to the window cautiously, his shoes seeming to drag endlessly across the floor. For some strange reason Watson felt uncomfortable. John had never felt uncomfortable around Sherlock, even the first he ever met him, which for any other person would have been enough to not want to be anywhere near Sherlock. But what made this moment so much different? He finally reached his colleagues side, a chill running up his back as he did.

"Sherlock?" he repeated. Sherlocks eyes were closed, his jaw tightly locked, and he seemed paler than usual.

"Sherlock are you alright?" He repeated once more. He stretched his arm out, placing his hand on Sherlocks shoulder cautiously. Suddenly a strange, almost, electrical feeling bolted through his hands when he touched his shoulder. John wanted to jump back, he wanted to pull his hand away but found that he couldn't.

_What is wrong with you John? Pull away damn you!_ His thoughts screamed. For someone reason he just couldn't find himself to pull away.

"Sherlock!" Watson screamed. This seemed to wake the tall man from whatever trance he was in, his eyes immediately snapped to Watsons. Their eyes bored into one another, blue staring into blue. Sherlock finally gave a verbal response, something that John welcomed.

"We've got a...an investigation...to-uh investigate in." Sherlock said. Watson was in shock, Sherlock had never been at a loss for words, in fact he was the one person who said to many, in a too unkindly fashion.

"Um, Sherlock..." John started, but Holmes stepped away fast, leaving Watsons hand to fall limply back to his side.

"Come, come now John. Onward, before Lestrade arrives to take away all the fun." he said quickly, ignoring his friends futile efforts of commenting on what had just happened.

Sherlock walked quickly away to his own room to change, leaving a largely confused Watson standing in front of the window.

_What the hell was that? _Thought John.


	5. Chapter 5: The Game Begins

******Chapter 5: The Game Begins**

The morning had taken an awkward turn to say the least, first with the shirtless encounter John had had with Sherlock, then their little fiasco just now with the staring. And all these thoughts buzzing around in Johns head. Why was he suddenly thinking of Sherlock in what some may consider a subtly sexual way? He pushed that thought aside as he became conscious of his current state. He had not moved from the spot that Sherlock left him in. He stood there, just as motionless as the statues of Notre Dame. His hand tingled from the shock that had previously ran through it.

___Probably just static, it has to be static. _John thought, trying to convince himself that...well he doesn't know what exactly he is trying to convince himself of.

___And why is Sherlock acting so strangely? _That was a good question indeed. From Johns own experience, he had not seen Sherlock that shaken since that Hell Hound investigation they did earlier that year, and that was an expression that John never wanted to see on his colleagues face again.

"John." a deep voice sounded from behind. John looked up to see Sherlock fully dressed in his normal attire of dark pants, a black button up shirt, his dark blue scarf fashioned in its usual 'Holmes' style and his long trench coat. His face appeared to have been splashed with water and poorly dried.

"Sherlock are feeling-" he began, but Sherlock cut him off before he could finish..

"Never better John." he said quickly. A little to quickly, even for the famed Sherlock Holmes.

"Are sure you seem a bit," John replied.

"I seem a bit what?" Sherlock asked, his expression becoming hard to read. Not that Sherlock was an easily readable person.

"You seem...distracted," he voiced. John always found it slightly difficult to voice his concern for his friend, he wasn't sure why but he just felt odd doing things like that.

"Well I'm not." he snapped.

"Well i'm sorry, no need to get snappy, i'm just...voicing my concern." John admitted.

"Hmph, oh you people and your feelings. Must put a damper on your mood doing that." Sherlock responded.

___Now there's the usual Sherlock i know _John thought. He had no response to Sherlocks comment. If he was being honest with himself, he would say it put his mind at ease knowing Sherlock could still be a jerk.

"Well, shall we press on? I'm not going to let Lestrade have all the fun." Sherlock said with a slight smirk. John nodded in agreement, and both men walked down the stairs and out the door, on their way to the investigation.

Sherlock and John had left the house just a second to late, because as soon as they exited the house, they both saw Lestrades men clearing off the crowd and placing yellow tape around the crime scene. The body had been moved from its previous hanging spot out of the window. Lestrades men probably moved it John thought. Sherlock and John both were about to enter when Sargent Sally Donovan stepped in front of them.

"We don't need you Holmes, clear off. You and your boyfriend." She said with arms crossed.

"I'm not his boyfriend." John announced, although he was completely ignored, as usual, when it came to that topic.

"Don't need me? You think you and your colleagues are gonna solve this case?" Sherlock said.

"You're a consulting detective last time i checked. No one, that i am aware of has consulted with you. So don't make me repeat myself, clear off Holmes." she said, her tone getting meaner.

"You repeated yourself all on your goodwill, and Lestrade asked me to come. Now where's the corpse?" Sherlock asked. He pushed through Sally went underneath the yellow tape and preceded to hold the tape up for John to follow.

"Since when? I heard your little spat on the telly, don't try to pull one over on me Holmes. And its gone off to the morgue where it belongs!" Sally yelled, snatching the tape from his hand.

"If i wanted to pull on over on you Donovan i would have done it already, as dull as you are." he responded. The two were now in each others faces, both sneering at one another.

"Could you two not be at each others throats for more than two seconds?" John said.

"Yes Sherlock, listen to your boyfriend and not act like a child for once in your life." an annoying voice sounded. Sherlock, Sally, and Johns head turned to see the scrawny Anderson snapping his gloves off whilst walking toward them. Sherlock eye twitched irritatingly.

"I am not a child." he replied.

"Let him through Donovan, we can use him for something." He said. Sally, hatingly, released the yellow tape and let John pass inside. The duo, with Anderson leading them walked up the steps, which were underneath the hanging body, and into the house. Anderson led them up the wooden staircase and into what appeared to be the master bedroom. John was walking when suddenly his face met the back of Sherlocks.

"Sherlock...what...the bloody hell is-" he said walking around his friend. John knew something was wrong. It was the same look this morning but far more horrified. His eyes were as wide as John had ever witnessed, he was incredibly pale, and it almost looked as though he was shaking out of fear.

"Sherlock are you ok?" John asked concernedly.

"Mean anything to you Holmes?" Anderson asked. John turned to see what Sherlock was talking about and saw, written in what appeared to be red paint. It read:

___**Time to finish our game Sherlock- G.L**_

"Sherlock! Does this mean anything to you?" Anderson repeated. John looked back at his friend, his mind going into an episode of questions.

"...It means..everything to me." Sherlock whispered.

Johns gaze moved from Sherlock to the eerie phrase written in blood red.


	6. Chapter 6: Past is the new Present

******Chapter 6: Past is the new Present**

"I'm phoning Lestrade, get the freak out of here Donovan." Anderson said, pulling out his phone. Donovan stepped forward but John glared at her.

"Just give him a second! And who put you in charge Anderson?" John yelled. John had his hand clasped tightly around Sherlocks face, trying to shake him out of this shock that he had suddenly entered.

"A second? He's been like that for a good twenty minutes. And Lestrade! He had a prior engagement and out me in charge." replied Anderson replied. Nearly every woman or man working on the case had come to see Sherlock Holmes in his current state of immobilization. Sally and Anderson stood side by side near the window looking on at the sight before them.

"He's in shock." John argued. Sally grunted while Anderson and a few others chuckled.

"In shock from what? Some guy telling him he wants to finish his game of tag?" Anderson replied arrogantly. John rolled his eyes, ignoring everyone's comments.

"Come on Sherlock, snap out of it." he whispered. He stared into Sherlocks eyes and face, trying to read anything he could. He got nothing. Sherlock face had twisted into that of what a childs might look like if they saw their nightmare out in the real world.

___Why do I keep comparing him to a child? Well I suppose he is one. _He thought, he shook his head slightly at that.

___Come on John, stay focused._

"Sherlock, please, stop freaking out every five minutes and snap out of it!" he begged. Sherlock had no reply. His jaw locked tight, fists balled up even tighter, to the point of having nearly blue knuckles.

"Alright, I'm done with this. I'm phoning Lestrade. This is our case Watson. Leave it to the professionals. Now remove yourself and Holmes now before I have you arrested for trespassing on a crime scene." Anderson replied, he pulled out his phone, pressed some buttons and was soon talking away with his boss as he walked out of the room.

"I always told myself I'd be there the day Sherlock finally broke, I honestly thought it'd be a better sight." sally commented before walking away. Clearing off the remaining people in the room. John had not moved from his position. Still directly in front of Sherlock, hands still firmly grasped on the face of his friend. His finger tips just barely touching the curly strand of Sherlocks hair.

John had to find some way to get him to get out of his mental shutdown but how?

___I could punch him... _he thought.

___No that'd just knock him _out. He concluded. John thought and thought in his head scratching off any and nearly all Ideas that followed. But then one idea jumped into his mind, an idea he wish would have been deleted as soon as it had entered.

___No...no. No way on bloody hell am I doing that. What the hell is wrong with you John? What are you thinking? _He thought. His face flushed pink at the idea. He made up his mind and tried the only thing that may even work regardless if it knocked him out. He stepped away from his statue of a friend, pulled his arm back and swung. His fist collided with Sherlocks face, causing pain on both ends. Sherlock stumbled back a bit before landing on the floor, his hand immediately coming to his face. John shook his hand rapidly, trying to shake the pain in his knuckles out.

"What...what-WHY?" Sherlock exclaimed. John rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Why? Maybe because you've been standing there like a paralyzed bloody mute for the past half-hour. Why do you keep doing that?" John asked. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him up.

"What do you mean doing what. I was standing there and Anderson just...where Anderson?" Sherlock replied. His eyes raced about the room trying to locate Anderson but couldn't find him.

"Where is he? He was standing there just now. I saw him." Sherlock exclaimed. John looked worriedly at him as his friend began walking about the room like a crazy person.

_Had he lost track of time or something? _John wondered.

"He was right here, by the wall. He had just asked if those initials meant anything to me and I was about to explain and..." Sherlock said, the last few words of his statement being unaudible to John.

"Sherlock that was half an hour ago. You were in some sort of shock or something." John replied. Sherlock, for the first time in...well never, was completely lost.

"Shock? If I was in shock I would be in severe pain. I wouldn't be standing still i'd be rapidly shaking." His baritone voice responded.

"Yeah, well then explain why you were just frozen in place? I kept calling your name but you never said anything. Just stood there like a statue." he replied once more. Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, closing his eyes as he did and sighed.

"And you didn't think of punching me anytime sooner?" Sherlock asked.

"I didn't want to hurt you." he said.

"Oh please John, your little punches although probably useful in Afghanistan have lost its edge. Child's play really." he said in his usual 'I'm-going-to-mock-you-now' tone. John grunted.

"Please, I took you off of your feet." John announced.

"I tripped over something, the fact that you punched me is completely coincidental. Anyhow there are more pressing matters. Like when our G.L. character is going to kill." Sherlock responded before rushing out of the room and down the stairs and out the of the house. John followed right on his heels.

"Murder, I thought you said these people were already dead before they were hung?" john asked.

"They were, but his next victim is going to be murdered." Sherlock exclaimed.

John sighed in relief. Sherlock was back in the swing of things once more, although he had to remind himself to ask Sherlock about his sudden shock moments.

"How do you know?" John asked.

"Because all psychopaths kill. Taxi!" yelled Sherlock as he raised his hand to hail a cab. A black taxi pulled up to the curb in front of the duo.

"So where are we off to again?" John asked as he opened the door.

"Morgue, dead body central. We are going to go and find our Corpse." Sherlock replied. John nodded as the two entered into a black taxi and were on their way to their destination. John sat in his seat quietly, his mind racing with questions, the most obvious one being:

___Why in all the ways to get Sherlock to snap out of his funk had i considered kissing him?_


	7. Chapter 7: Elevator Ride

******Chapter 7: Elevator Ride**

The taxi ride was a quiet one, with Sherlock rapidly texting whoever it was he was texting and John trying to get his thoughts out of a jumble, you would think there was only one passenger. Johns eyebrows were furrowed down in its usual thinking look, with his lips pushed out slightly, almost like a pout.

"Thinking?" Sherlock said, his face somehow buried into his small phone. John looked up to his colleague.

"What was that?" he asked. Sherlock closed his phone, placed it in his pocket, then brought his hands up to his face. His hands were in that 'Sherlock' position that John had grown so accustomed to seeing. It was placed in what most people might think of being a praying pose, although John never thought of Sherlock being religious.

___He probably thinks of himself as his own higher power. _John chuckled at that thought.

"Thinking, and you chuckled. I'm curious as to why. Or whether if you will confide in me. Seeing as I already know what you're thinking about." he spoke confidently. John grunted.

"I highly doubt you know what I am thinking." John replied.

___He has no idea what I am thinking about. _Thought John.

"Try me." Sherlock challenged. John looked at Sherlock, his brown eyes locking with Sherlock gray blue eyes.

"Ok," John responded, nodding his head as he did. He placed his hands on the sides of him, letting his legs spread slightly for comfort.

"What am I thinking?" John asked.

"I don't read minds, John." Sherlock replied.

"No, but you can tell what type of toothbrush a person uses based on the creamer they put in their coffee. So I think reading my mind should be no problem for you. Besides, you should know me well enough by now Sherlock." John pressed. Sherlock sat thinking for a moment, his long fingers still neatly tucked away underneath his chin.

"You're annoyed with me." He said in a monotone voice.

"I'm always annoyed with you." John replied. Sherlock cracked a smile.

"Hmph, well judging by your current position of slouching, it is a thought which you continue to push to the side, although it is not important, you ignoring your current thoughts seem to cause you some stress. And the way you have your legs slightly parted shows that the thought creates some arousal but not enough for you to be currently affected and seeing as you haven't been sexually active in the past seventeen days it would explain you consistent distraction. Your showers have also become shorter by a whole three minutes which means your usual 'morning relief' exercises have ceased currently. And you have not recently resided to your room with your lap top either so that adds to the relief problem you seem to have so either you are having erectile dysfunction issues or your ways of being stimulated aren't...stimulating anymore." Sherlock said quickly. John sat there, his face suddenly beginning to flush pink. His back suddenly became more erect and he crossed his legs in an uncomfortable manner; clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact with his overly-observant colleague.

"Have I missed anything?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head as words failed to escape his mouth.

John had not realized that he hadn't masturbated in quite sometime, let alone had sex. But what made him curious was the fact that Sherlock had notice these things. John knew that Sherlock was observant but he was not aware that Sherlock paid that close attention to him.

The cab had come to an abrupt stop in the parking lot of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

"Ere you gents are, that'll be forty-six pounds." the cab driver announced. John got and walked around to the front of the cab while Sherlock paid the fare.

___How did he...How could he possibly..._Johns thoughts were in a swirl over what Sherlock had said.

"Come now John, shall we press on?" Sherlock said, brushing past him ever so slightly. His long trench coat gracefully dancing around the back of his legs as he walked.

"Do you pry on me or something?" John asked, a hint of anger in his voice. He followed closely to Sherlock as they walked through the doors of the hospital.

"No I simply pay attention." he replied, his strides becoming longer and faster.

"No, no. That surpasses paying attention and borders spying." John said.

"I do not spy, I pay attention to detail and simply put them together John, not to difficult." Sherlock said.

"Well stop putting things together and stop paying attention to me. I do not have erectile dysfunction." John said frustratingly as the two men entered the elevator. The elevator doors closed and the the two men descended down.

"Getting frustrated won't help you...or maybe it will. I can't entirely say." Sherlock said, his eyes remaining straight ahead.

"Do you find this amusing Sherlock?" John asked.

"I don't find much amusing John, but look, you asked me to state what was going through your mind and I answered it. Don't get upset with me if you don't like the results." he snapped, his eyes darting to Johns.

"I only dislike inaccurate results." John said quietly. His eyes were intense and held an almost malevolent look.

"What are you talking about? I properly analyzed every detail and placed them together perfectly." Sherlock stated.

"You may have but that wasn't what I was thinking about." John said.

"Then what was it?" He asked.

"I was thinking about Mary." John replied. He then strode out through the elevator doors and down the hall toward the morgue. Sherlock stood in the elevator and stared down at the floor, becoming ever aware of the pain that he had just caused his friend.


	8. Chapter 8: New Ties and Old Leads

**Chapter 8: New Ties and Old Leads**

John walked through the doors of the morgue, his searching around for the familiar face of Molly Hooper. He made sure not to call out for her, seeing as that was usually Sherlocks job and John wasn't particularly sure what the two of them were doing here.

"Hello there." an unfamiliar voice sounded. John turned to see a young girl no older than twenty at the most sitting on a spinning chair in the far corner. Her dark brown hair was just below her shoulders at length, although it could be longer seeing as it was extremely curly. Her skin was a shade of milk chocolate and looked soft at the touch. She rose from her chair and walked toward John, clutching a clipboard closely to her chest.

"Hello," John replied.

"You aren't Sherlock Holmes are you?" she asked.

"No, I'm a friend of his. John Watson." he said. He politely held his hand out and she took it all the same, shaking it softly.

"Kira Sangaurd. I'm filling in for Molly while she's away." she responded.

"Where did Ms. Hooper go off too?" a voice sounded from behind. John and Kira both looked over to see Sherlocl standing by the doors.

"Don't know, she never told me. You must be Sherlock Holmes, then." she said.

"Well then, if she told you about my description then she probably told you that I come in here periodically to look at bodies." Sherlock said, giving a friendly smile toward the girl.

"Yes, she told me how she lets you two come in and examne bodies and such things." she replied.

"Good, well first things first, I need to know if any bodies have been recently taken from the morguw and possibly transferred elsewhere. And If so I need to know who signed for them and which bodies were-

"No." She interrupted. John looked at the girl, surprised.

"What do you mean no?" Sherlock asked.

"I mean exactly what I say. Those files are confidential and are of no concern to yours. You may be able to win over Molly with that face but it'll take a bit of effort to talk me into showing you those files." she said boldly. Her eyes had a friendly challenging look in them, a look which John liked for some strange reason.

"Well I'm sure thirty pounds will suffice." Sherlock said in an attempted bribe. She shook her head still smiling.

"Sixty?" he said.

"Nope."

"One hundred?" he added.

"Money won't help you here, Mr. Holmes." she stated.

"Lunch?" he continued.

"Already ate, and no." she said.

"Then what?" Sherlock asked

"You're an expert at observation, figure it out. Until then Mr. Holmes, I'm going to have to ask you and you're boyfriend here to leave, I have bodies to tend to." She said, turning her back and walking back toward her chair.

"I'm not his boyfriend." John said, holding his hands up as he spoke. She turned and looked, her eyes switching between John and Sherlock and smiled.

"Whatever you say." she replied.

"You never said where Molly went." Sherlock announced.

"She never told me. Might have been a death in a family or something." she said.

"Why do you think that?" Sherlock asked, his face becoming interested.

"Well she was here pretty late the night she left, I had left my bag in one of the research labs and ran into her. She was crying, eyes all red and cheeks puffy, the face of someone who was in a tragic position I had assumed. She asked if I could fill in for her for the next few days and said a man, which would be you, would be stopping by soon. And that was it. She never said anything else to me after that." Kira responded.

"How long ago was that?" Sherlock asked, his voice raised in urgency.

"About three days ago why?" Kira asked. Sherlock ignored her question and walked quickly out through the doors. John followed shouting a quick 'Thank You' behind him before he was soon on the heels of his friend.

"What's wrong? You think Molly may know something?" John asked.

"Yes, well no. But yes." Sherlock said.

"What do you mean?" John questioned as Sherlock impatiently pressed the button for the elevator.

"I mean, Molly left the night before the first body was discovered, and seeing as this is the morgue closest to the first crime scene this has to be the place where the body was taken from which means Molly was the only person that could have seen our G.L. Fellow." Sherlock stated.

"So we are off to find Molly then, yes?" John asked as the elevator doors opened. The two men stepped in and Sherlock pressed the button that would take them to the main floor.

"Yes, we are John." Sherlock said as he popped his collar up fashionably.

**A.N.- Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! So are you lot enjoying the story? Should I pick up the pace with the Johnlock or keep this pace? Also what do you think of Kira? I was just going to keep her as a temporary character but if you enjoyed her I can keep her around, somehow. Anyways let me know with a review or PM me if you don't want other reading your comments. Thanks for reading!**

**-Hades**


	9. Chapter 9: Promise

******Chapter 9: Promise**

The two gents were soon back in a taxi and headed to Molly Hoopers' home. John sat on the opposite most side of the cab, trying to avoid Sherlock as much as possible. Sherlock noticed this and sighed.

"I'm sorry." he muttered.

"I'm not mad." John gruffly replied.

"You are. Observation is one of my talents as you know. But it doesn't take much to see that I have made you upset." Sherlock said guiltily.

"I'm not honestly. I'm just thinking." John said.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. John looked at him, with an eyebrow raised.

"I won't give any input, I'll just listen." Sherlock added raising his hands up in defense.

"The initials." John stated, turning his head back toward the window.

"What about them?" Sherlock questioned.

"Well G.L. I mean, there is only one person we know that has a name with those initials." John said.

"And who would that be?" Sherlock pressed. His face read that he already knew what John was thinking but he continued to not say anything, pretending to be in the dark about the situation. This made John happy...for some strange reason. The fact that Sherlock was trying not to be a dick made John happy. ___Maybe happy is too strong a word _John thought.

"Lestrade, his first names Greg and we haven't seen a hair on him all day. And he didn't want you getting involved with the case. Makes sense doesn't it?" John said, turning his head slightly to see the detectives reaction.

"Greg? I thought his first name was George." Sherlock responded.

"Although it does makes perfect sense, Lestrade would be the perfect suspect except for the three following reasons why. If I may say those." Sherlock said, hoping for approval. John found it strange that Sherlock was becoming guarded over his responses, as if Johns earlier sensitivity to what he had said affected him. Now he suddenly cared about what John thought; not that he was complaining. John nodded toward his friend, letting him continue his explanation.

"First reason, the handwriting was off. Lestrades hand-writing is messy, close to chicken scratch, whoever wrote that on the wall is someone who is cautious about their writing. And seeing as how it was written on a wall at that angle it was almost to neat. Second reason, Lestrades been in Hampstead since last Thursday with a new female colleague of his. Nothing serious, simply physical. And lastly, I know who G.L. is." Sherlock said. His eyes glanced quickly from John to the door of the car and then landing once again on John. His eyes penetrated Johns like needle against skin. John flinched at the intensity.

"And who is this G.L. Character?" he asked. Sherlock hesitated before responding.

"Listen to me John, I need you to promise me something. Before I tell you about this man I need you to promise me that if anything goes wrong or if you are ever in danger that I cannot get you out of during this case, I want you to run. I don't care if I'm hurt or if my life is in danger I need you to promise me that you will flee if there is any sign of danger." Sherlock said, his voice beginning to shake.

___What's wrong with him? Why does he want me to promise these things? _John thought.

"What are you going on about Sherlock?" John asked.

"Promise me...please." he begged.

___Is he...begging? What's going on with him._

"Why? Why would my life be put in danger?" John questioned, he leaned in, his elbows now bordering the edge of his knees.

"Because he is a dangerous man and I need to try and keep you safe." he responded. Sherlocks gaze grew more and more intense, it almost appeared as if tears were forming in his eyes.

"Why do you need to keep me safe? Who is this guy?" John questioned.

"Promise me!" Sherlock yelled. There was silence between the two. Sherlock stared into Johns eyes, and John stared right back. He searched his friends features, hoping to find some detail he could use to figure out why he was acting so strangely. ___Nothing._

"I promise dammit, now tell me why you are acting so strangely. Who is this man Sherlock?" John hollered.

"Gerard Larimer. The only man I will ever willingly say I fear." he whispered, his eyes seeming to become distant and fearful.

******A.N.- Hey all, just a quick request. Could you guys please leave reviews on how you all are enjoying the story, if you are. It helps me know where to go next with the story. And also you guys now know who G.L. is. Much excitement isn't it? Well, LEAVE REVIEWS! Please :-)**

******-Hades**


	10. Chapter 10: Gerard Larimer

******Chapter 10: Gerard Larimer**

Sherlocks pale Grey-blue eyes were as deep as ever with intensity and fear. The wild look in his struck a fair amount of fear and worry into John. Mainly worry.

"Who is this man Sherlock?" John questioned further. Sherlock moved back in his seat as his eyes drifted out toward the window.

"I wouldn't use the word man, as cruel and unsophisticated as Men can be, he surpasses the level of cruelty; and he is more sophisticated than any individual can ever hope to be. He specializes in the manipulation of the human mind. He possesses a particular ability of persuasion which is why politicians flock to him. His is the most powerful man in all of London. If you think you know what true corruption is you have never been in the presence of Gerard Larimer." Sherlock spoke quietly.

"What'd he do to you that was so bad?" John asked. His tone made the question come out more boringly than he made it sound, although as he leaned in he could Sherlock knew he was interested.

"One afternoon, while I was reading a book on Dirac's Principle on Quantum Mechanics, I noticed a man sitting at a chess table, staring at me, enticing me to come near to him. Now this man has a certain way with people, and me being weak and ignorant I followed this mans gaze and drew nearer. I sat down and there was an eerie silence. Then he moved his pawn forward. And I did the same. And we continued our game until he took one of my bishops. I was about to move but he got up and left mid game. Exactly four days later, one of the counselors of Cambridge was found dead. It was strange but I thought nothing of it. I left it to the proper authorities to figure it out, but no investigation was pursued. Then about a month later, I ran into this man again, with a chess board set up and all the pieces in the exact others that they had been left in. He fiddled with a bishop in his hands with a terrifying smile. But somehow he managed to entice me once more to play, and thus we continued, until he took two of my pawns and a knight. He left once more, leaving me to ponder. About five days later a security guard and two students were all found in Kew Gardens, dead. Now I managed to put all the details together with some added research on the case and realized that this man was using me to choose his victims. And he would kill his victims with whatever status that he took of my players. Students were pawns, knights were security Bishops were authorities figures on campus, he thinks the human race is all a game and we are all his pawns!" Sherlock yelled, before continuing. "That is why he is dangerous John, he shows no remorse, he views the human race as a bunch of chess pieces, each individual at his disposal and just as easily discarded. Politics use because they know what he is capable of, and they fear him. They fear him. He's cold and emotionless and truly evil, but he has an intelligence and memory that surpasses even that of Einstein. He can observe the tiniest crack in world and tell its entire history in the blink of an eye. He has weaknesses, no emotional breaking point. That is why he is dangerous." Sherlock said. John didn't know how to respond, his friend was obviously distressed. John could tell this man was definite threat to his friend.

"How do we stop him?" John asked. Sherlock closed his eyes, rubbing his temple with his long fingers.

"There is no way to stop him, he's protected by the most powerful authoritative figures in London, and even in all of Europe, he's untouchable." Sherlock whispered. John sat and thought.

"There has to be someway to bring him down. He can't just go leaving dead bodies around for all of London to see. Someone will put a stop to this." John spoke.

"Cab driver, turn around, go to 221b Baker Street." Sherlock yelled. The cabbie nodded, then the cab was quickly turning around. John looked at the window.

"Why are we going to back to the flat?" John asked.

"Because I need to think." Sherlock said.


	11. Chapter 11: Cold Tea and Naps

**Chapter 11: Cold Tea and Naps**

The cab pulled up to the curb that resided in front of the address 221b, and the gentlemen got out, paid the cabbie and found themselves walking up the familiar steps towards their flat. The door knocker was in its usual crooked form. Sherlock got the keys from out of his pocket unlocked the door and quickly went inside; John followed.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled as he stopped in the hallway. John brushed pass him and began to climb the stairs.

"Cup of tea John?" Sherlock asked. John stopped and turned.

"Uh. Sure. No sugar, please." John said.

"Will do. Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled again. John made his way upstairs and back into the living space that he had grown so used to. From the dirty chemistry set Sherlock had spread out on the kitchen table to the very walls themselves, John felt at home in every way. It had only been a few hours, but John felt as if he had been away for several days.

He sat down on the blue love seat and shut his eyes. He liked this chair, even if Sherlock didn't agree with it, it was comfy.

_Sherlock never asks me if I want tea. He always assumes that I don't. _John thought.

He could hear voices talking downstairs. Probably Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. John hadn't realized how tired he felt, and he began to drift into unconsciousness.

"John." A familiar voice said. John cracked his eyes open to Sherlock standing over him.

"How long was I asleep?" John yawned. Sherlock shook his head and smiled.

"Not long." He whispered. John noticed something strange about the room. There was nothing wrong with the room, but something seemed off. Something wasn't right but John couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"So, no tea then?" John asked. Sherlock just stood there, smiling.

"Alright then I'll take that as a yes, then. So were you able to think?" John asked. Sherlock turned, with his hands behind his back and began to pace.

"Yes, I was able to think John. I thought long and hard about...everything." he said.

"Well then I assume you came up with something good since you're smiling creepily. What'd you come up with then?" John asked standing up. He looked at Sherlock and watched him just stand there.

_What's going on with him now? _John thought.

"You shouldn't assume things John, it holds no true intellect. Its not even worthy of being called an educated guess." Sherlock said. Sherlock was now standing in front of the fireplace, he was fiddling with the skull in his hands.

"Well, then whatever you came up with what was it?" John responded, John began to get slightly annoyed with Sherlock.

"You." He said.

"Me?" John replied. He felt his heart skip a beat. Did Sherlock now think that he was involved or something?

"All this time...its been you..." he said as he turned to face John. Sherlocks smile had faded at this point, and his eyes were intense; he began to walk toward John.

"Look Sherlock, I don't know what you're on about, but I have nothing to do with whatever Larimer is doing." John said nervously.

"Oh this has nothing to do with the case, John. Sherlock replied. He was now directly in front of John, staring him down. There was something the way he looked that made John shudder

"Then what's it about?" John questioned. He cleared his throat as Sherlock came within an inch of him.

"Its about you...and I." Sherlock said. He grabbed Johns hand and intertwined their fingers together.

John couldn't find the sense to rip his hand away from Sherlocks and give him a nice solid punch for even thinking of such an idea.

"...Sherlock...What are you-" Sherlocks long finger crept up to silence John from talking any further.

"Don't speak, and don't deny me, John Watson." Sherlock darkly spoke. Sherlock dropped his finger from John lips and rather intertwined all ten of his long fingers into Johns hair, and he brought him closely and kissed him lightly. Johns eyes immediately closed, and soon his hands were tangled in Sherlocks curly hair. Johns head was in a swirl. One part of him was thinking why isn't he pulling away, why can't he stop himself but the other doesn't want him to stop; it wants him to keep going. The two fell in a heap onto the blue couch, their hands exploring each others bodies. Their lips never parted, they moved in sync with one another, each one adapting to the others tempo.

"John..." Sherlock moaned. Sherlock let his hands fall down to his friends belt, and he tugged, trying to pry it off.

"John..." Sherlock moaned again.

_Hang on...if he's still kissing me...how is he saying my name? _John wondered.

Sherlock had never parted his lips from Johns so there was no physical way he could be saying Johns name.

"JOHN!" Sherlock said once more. Johns eyes snapped open. There was Sherlock, standing over him with a cup if tea in his hand.

_A dream... _ John thought.

"You don't usually go into that deep of sleep, have you been taking medication?" Sherlock questioned. John rubbed his eyes then stared at the detective.

"How long was I asleep?" John asked.

"About thirty-two minutes." Sherlock answered, handing him his cup of tea. Johm took a sip then looked at Sherlock.

"Its cold." He said.

"I know, you fell asleep." Sherlock said as he sat down in his chair.

"And you didn't wake me?" John asked.

"I just did. You were disturbing me." Sherlock said. He was typing away quickly on his phone.

"How was I disturbing you?" John asked as he sat up and placed his tea on the coffee table.

"You were moaning, in your sleep." Sherlock said. John froze.

_Crap. Please tell me I didn't say his name...Please. _He mentally begged.


	12. Chapter 12: A Little Domestic

******Chapter 12: A Little Domestic**

"Moaning?" John said, as his heart began to crawl into his throat. _Please tell me I didn't say his name! Well...i don't remember saying his name it that dream, maybe I didn't say it aloud...wait! Why in the hell was I dreaming about kissing Sherlock? What is wrong with me? I'm not gay! I enjoy women! ….Although a straight man wouldn't need to convince himself of that. _John thought. He shuddered slightly at the thought then pushed it away. Because John Watson was not gay...right?

"Yes, moaning." Sherlock responded, snapping John out of his train of thought. Sherlock was sitting in his usual stance; fingers just under the chin in a thinking position.

_He's always thinking. John thought._

"Nothing...understandable was it?" John questioned. Sherlocks eyes shot up to Johns.

"Why?" He pressed.

"Just curious I suppose." John asked, trying to seem as uninterested as possible. Sherlock sprang up from his seat, his hair bouncing as he did. His hair had a brilliant mind of its own at times.

"Well I guess then I'll just keep that bit of information to myself." Sherlock said, piercing John with his Blue-Green eyes.

"That's fine." John said, ignoring his need to become lost in Sherlocks eyes, as he walked to the kitchen. _He had to be bluffing. _John thought. John walked into the kitchen and turned to open the microwave door. John pulled it open then immediately closed it. He blinked several times before re-opening the microwave to gaze at the scene that lay before him. He was shocked, but it didn't make sense as to why he would b e shocked. This wasn't strange when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock." John said.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied from the other room.

"Why is there a hand in the microwave?" John asked as he closed his eyes to the pale severed hand that lay inside. He heard some quick movement then saw Sherlock pop around the corner and take the hand.

"An experiment." He said quickly.

"An experiment for-You know what, I'm not even going to ask." John said. He had lost his appetite for tea, and placed the cup in the sink.

"So did you Get any thinking done for the thirty two minutes that I was asleep?" John asked.

"Yes, I did." Sherlock said. He had now moved himself back to his sitting place on the green couch, his eyes staring at the blue loveseat.

"And?" John questioned, staring at him. Sherlock stared at the blue couch a little while longer.

"Sherlock?" John said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Sherlock said.

"And? Your thinking? What did you gather you could do about Larimer?" John asked irritatingly, before making his way to sit on the blue couch.

"Oh all in due time John." Sherlock announced before jumping to his feet once more. He snatched his phone from the coffee table and began to type away once more.

"So you're going to keep me in the dark on this one then?" John said annoyed.

_Why is he always frustrating me? _John wondered.

"Oh don't be so sensitive John." Sherlock said. A _Ding _sound was heard escaping the detectives phone, then he quickly shoved it into his pocket.

"What was that?" John asked as he sank into the couch, growing comfier and comfier by each second that passed.

"A text." Sherlock replied.

"Two whom?" John further questioned.

"So many questions. Its to Molly. Asking her dinner." Sherlock said as he began to pace the floor.

"Dinner?" John said with a slight smile.

"Please stop with the questions. Its distracting me." Sherlock said, his face revealed massive amounts of stress. Now that John actually looked at him, Sherlock looked as if he hadn't slept in a few days; his face had aged, and he had bags underneath his eyes. His skin was paler than usual and he looked ill.

"Sherlock, when is the last time you slept?" John questioned once more.

"A few days, why does that matter?" Sherlock responded.

"Because you need sleep, Sherlock." John said loudly.

"I don't need sleep, I need silence. I need you to stop talking and asking questions because you are beginning to spread your low I.Q. onto me, now please Shut Up!" Sherlock yelled. A long silence spread over the room. Sherlock kept up his stress related pacing, his eyes never being removed from his phone on that lie on the coffee table; while John just stared at Sherlock.

It wasn't uncommon for Sherlock to grow loud and hateful when he was in times of stress, but that didn't mean it didn't cause John some fair amount of pain. It wasn't so much the fact that Sherlock yelled that caused John to keep his silence, it was more of how Sherlock said it. Almost as if he was an inferior person, someone less of being in his presence; but that's how Sherlock viewed everyone. Maybe because John thought he was worth more to Sherlock than everyone else. John didn't respond to Sherlock, he didn't respond with a sarcastic statement or a hateful lecture. He simply made his way to the door, grabbing his jacket, then leaving the room.

"John?" Sherlock said as John walked out of the door; but John just walked straight down the stairs.

"John!" He yelled once more as the door closed quietly behind John.


End file.
